Lost for Words
by orangeturquoise
Summary: it is not often that you find survivors of a crime as ruthless and violent as this,yet it was his case now and he would find whoever was responsible.Somedays he hated that his job was necessary.Then again he was glad for every help he could provide.
1. Prologue

**Lost for Words**

_Prologue_

The first victim was lying between couch and table. It was an elderly man, kind-looking, with around twenty bullet holes in his chest. A coroner was on it already. Coffee and cookies were still standing on the table. Three cups, he noted.

The second one lay in the hallway that led up to the second storey, at the entrance to the open kitchen. The man was not much older than himself. The whole wall behind him was splattered with his blood: the window, fridge and cupboards. Some days he hated that his job was even necessary.

Further droplets were visible on the floor infront of the kitchen counter, though not much. Still, it was enough for DNA analysis. He marked and photographed this evidence as well, then moved around the counter. The was a substantial puddle of blood there, too, and smears on the ground and furniture.

„How are you getting on, Mr Wolfe?" the charismatic voice of his superior behind him asked.

„There's some low velocity splatter on the other side of the counter. It's not much doesn't fit to the position of any of the two victims. It could be from the killer or another victim. As well as this trace here," he motioned to the puddle he was just examining, „it doesn't originate from any of the victims either or there would have been a trail. Also not to the blood from the other side of the counter. My guess is that there were at least two more people here, and one can't have gotten too far with an injury this severe, which is why we should follow this trace. My guess is that there may be a third victim or witness." He ended his report with pointing to a trail of blood splatter that was soaking into the dark carpet outside the kitchen area.

„What leads you to that assumption?" his boss inquired.

„There were three cups on the table next to the first victim. The gun shot wounds on both bodies stem from a large calibre gun, perhaps a rifle or MP. It seems like the killer, or killers, forced their way in. Normally no one would invite a guy with a MP into their house for a coffee." He replied objectively.

„Well observed, Mr Wolfe. Let's follow this then." Horatio remarked.

The trail led them up to the second storey and into a bed room. There was a big double bed dominating the room and a closet to the right. A look at the decor and photos led him to the conclusion that this was the master bed room, which had belonged to the older victim, Patrick Winter. The carpet was dark red here, making it hard to determine the place of the blood trail. Ryan was just about to use the luminol when he heard something. With a gesture he meant his boss and the two other present police officers to be quiet. He closed his eyes to concentrate on catching the faint sound. There it was again, on the opposite side of the room. It sounded like ragged breathing, terrified. For a split second he thought he could even make out the vigorous pounding of a heart. However, it came from the massive closet. He noticed the other three drawing their weapons, only then did he slowly open the closet door.


	2. Chapter 1: What's in the closet?

_Okay, first comes the long as author's note, cause I forgot that last time. Primarily I'm happy to announce that this is my third story altogether, but the first for CSI and it makes me very happy that on the first evening this story attracted 2 reviews, which are greatly appreciated, 1 story alert and a total of 100 hits. To reviews: I love them, I want them, and I'm addicted to them; they motivate me to update faster and to write to the best of my ability. Constructive criticism and praise, ideas and friendly hints are very welcome, flaming and slashing will not be tolerated. _

_Secondly all my cheers go to the wonderful dictionary website and the book "Forensics for Dummies", also to the makers of the CSI series and other crime series I love._

_At last, the disclaimer. This is a one time thing! Seriously, if I truly owned CSI this would be an episode, maybe even a double episode, and if I owned it alone, it would become a movie. As you see that none of this is the case I'm bound to write my story here for your reading pleasures. There's only so much hope as maybe the people who do own it will read this and be greatly inspired and want me to become a member of their writing staff. Hope dies last, people! _

_And now: enjoy and comment!_

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1st Chapter: What's in the closet?

The door squeaked lightly, and scraped over the thick carpet, so it could not be moved too easily. The first thing he saw was the massive bloody kitchen knife suddenly glinting in the light, then the hand that held it and eventually the whole person. She was crouching in the furthest corner of the closet, her blue summer dress partially drenched in blood. Generally there seemed to be blood wherever they looked: crusted in her copper-coloured hair, splattered on her face, smeared on her hands.

She was trembling violently, yet the knife remained clutched in her hand. Ryan feverishly tried to remember everything he'd learned about situations like this. _Eye contact._ He hoped desperately that nobody of the other three would try to intervene now. He made sure she was really looking straight into his eyes before starting to speak.

"It's okay, Miss. We're from the Miami Dade Police Department. You're safe now. It's alright. Please give me the knife." He spoke softly and reassuringly. She was understandably reluctant to let go of her only defense. He stretched out his gloved hand slowly.

"Everything's gonna be alright, just give me the knife." He repeated this in some variation for the next what seemed like eternities, like a macabre mantra. _Give me the knife, it's okay, everything's gonna be alright, just give me the knife. _Eventually she did, or rather; she let him wind it out of her death grip. He just held the thing behind himself, relying on Horatio to bag it, not wanting to break eye contact. Once he had both his hands free again he reached out to the young woman, all the while continuing to speak soothingly. When she finally crawled out of the small confined space she almost immediately collapsed, due to her leg, which was bleeding profusely. He figured quickly. The huge puddle in the kitchen, the even larger stain on the closet floor, her pale face, anemic; she was clutching a nasty gash on her right thigh. She needed first aid ASAP. The fluttering eyelids, dilated pupils, she was on the verge of passing out. Not wanting the only witness to become a third victim he swiftly picked up her lithe frame and carried her out to the ambulances.



Horatio looked around the crime scene, quickly getting an overview and at the same time controlling the moves of his team, only there was nothing to control. They were too well accomplished to need a nanny when doing their job. Especially young Ryan Wolfe had proven himself to be a more than valuable member to complete the troop of crime fighters. Said CSI was now heading for him in order to make a short report about their victims/witnesses condition.

"Sir?"

"Report, Mr. Wolfe."

"The witness is Ms Ruby Winter, daughter of the house owner and victim number one, Patrick Winter. She is conscious but doesn't respond to anything at the time. The paramedic suggested that she is in a state of shock. They took her to the nearest hospital. I sent two officers with them for security."

"Well done. Anything else?"

"Yes, I have the bullet from her leg for Calleigh to analyze. It's a rather large caliber."

"Alright, then go on working on your case."

"Lieutenant?" Ryan asked slightly puzzled.

"You've heard correctly, Mr. Wolfe. Your work is quite satisfying. Your case – your responsibility."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."


	3. Chapter 2: Gotta love the chocolate

2nd Chapter: Gotta love the chocolate cookies

Ryan stepped back into the house, now more determined than ever to solve this case. He let his eyes wander around the room first to get a general impression of the place. It was a light and fairly modern house, with a generous lay-out and open kitchen and hallway, very European. Light and friendly colors dominated the furnishing and there were framed family pictures everywhere: on the walls, shelves, and every table except for the one next to the couch. It was still set for the three people, two of which were now murdered and the third hospitalized. He sighed as he bent down to get a closer look at the dishes. There were the three coffee cups, each one had a different color and the names were written on them: Ruby, Joseph, Daddy; respectively in orange, yellow and blue. The cookies were apparently self-made and coated in smooth chocolate. There were eight of them left on the plate on which they had been served, one half eaten one lying on the plate to his right, the remains of another still clutched in Patrick Winter's hand. He carefully bagged it as Alexx, who was already examining the body, handed it to him. There were crumbs on all four plates, and, oddly enough, one cookie lying directly on the table, near the edge. It showed no signs of teeth, but unmistakably a fingerprint had imbedded itself into the soft chocolate coat. Supposing the murderer had been so pretentious as to make such a tiny mistake? This piece of pastry was evidence and it was threatening to melt away in the hot Miami summer. What was a CSI to do in a situation like this? He turned to his colleague for help again: "Alexx, do you know where I can find something like a cooling box? My evidence is kinda melting away here."

With that taken care of, Ryan proceeded to process the rest of the area with just as much care and almost obsessive meticulousness. Horatio and the rest of the team had meanwhile been called to another scene. Ryan stood up and straightening out his collar took a second look around. Only some 200 square feet more.

Meanwhile at the other end of the city some diligent officers did their best to close off the scene, question the eye witnesses and hold back overly curious bystanders. Horatio sighed and Calleigh joined in. It was not a pretty sight at all in front of them.

They stood at one of Miami's busiest crossroads, the middle of which was now taken up by a huge mass of wrecked metal. Originally it had been three cars and a motorbike. Now a family of four was wiped out. The biker didn't stand a chance between two SUV's, he was squashed completely. Yet the most disturbing fact was the case of the cause of the fatal crash. Apparently the only involved driver coming from the left had grossly disregarded the right of way, thus causing the family's car to a sudden halt and the following bike and other car to smash into it. Only, the driver of that car, it was a large grey jeep, had been dead for at least two hours already. Since when do dead men drive?


End file.
